


be unbroken or be brave again

by lesbianbettycooper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Female Character, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, aryas sad! the victory doesnt really feel like a victory to her! :((((
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbettycooper/pseuds/lesbianbettycooper
Summary: Arya opens her mouth but no sound comes out; she closes it quickly, swallows hard. Sansa remains quiet, watches the fire from the hearth flicker in Arya’s wet eyes and lets her try again.“I forgot-” Her words croak, like she hasn't used her voice in years. She tries to clear her throat, tries to speak again but a grimace of pain crosses her usually blank face.or; sansa and arya have a moment after the battle





	be unbroken or be brave again

**Author's Note:**

> i got the title from the hozier fic name generator skdjfhksjdf and the song its specifically from is 'to noise making (sing)'
> 
> also i *think* jon has ned and cats old room but for the sake of this fic sansa has it instead! danke! dskjfhs

***  


_(_ What is it to win? _Arya thinks, staggering through the ruins of her home. She stumbles her way through the dead; pushes her way through the living. Averts her eyes from the familiar faces of the men on the ground. She wishes she could help put them to rest, help build their funeral pyres. She keeps walking. Pretends she can’t hear the sobs and the cheers and the pleas. She can’t be here. Living is so much easier and yet so much harder to confront. She has to leave._ This doesn’t feel like winning. _)_  
  
  


 

Sansa finds Arya in her room. She's sitting perfectly still at the bottom of the bed, her eyes fixed on the lit hearth. She doesn’t turn as Sansa closes the door behind her. But Sansa can see her take a quick breath, can see her hands begin to shake in her lap.

 

Sansa watches her sister's stillness ripple as she comes to sit beside her, notices the way her back straightens and her fists clench. Arya opens her mouth but no sound comes out; she closes it quickly, swallows hard. Sansa remains quiet, watches the fire from the hearth flicker in Arya’s wet eyes and lets her try again.

 

“I forgot-” Her words croak, like she hasn't used her voice in years. She tries to clear her throat, tries to speak again but a grimace of pain crosses her usually blank face.

 

Sansa moves then, takes Arya’s hand in her own, gently and slowly. “It’s alright,” She says, her voice coming out like a whisper.

 

Oh, Sansa so _wishes_ she could sound strong, could sound unbothered and unflinching. Like nothing can get through her impenetrable armor, like nothing can hurt her if she keeps her head up high and dries her eyes before her tears can fall.

 

But she can’t. Not right now. Not when Arya’s neck is bruised and burnt and looks so familiar to Sansa that it almost takes her breath. Not when someone had wrapped their hand around her little sister’s neck and _squeezed._ Not when Arya, her unwavering, _strong_ sister, has tears streaming down her face and blood and soot and dirt caked over her too.

 

Sansa grips Arya’s hand tight, watches her take a breath, and blink away some tears.

 

“This was mother and father’s room.” Arya finally manages, quiet and rasping and weak but so, so _strong_. Sansa only nods, moves closer to her sister so that their knees touch. “I forgot, for a moment, that they wouldn’t be in here, sleeping safe and warm in their bed.”

 

Sansa’s words are her weapon. She prides herself on her ability to use them well and to use them wisely. She has no idea what she should say, has no idea what Arya wants, _needs_ to hear.

 

Instead, Sansa takes her sister’s face in her hands, wipes away some of her tears, _some of her blood_. She looks at her properly, at her bruises and her cuts and her burns; looks in her eyes and sees more tears gather.

 

“They’d be proud of you.” Sansa whispers, her own eyes growing wet, “They’d be  _so_ proud of you, Arya.” She brings Arya’s head down to rest on her shoulder and wraps her arms around her. Sansa runs her fingers through her sister’s hair, “ _I'm_ so proud of you.”

 

And then, Arya slumps in her arms and begins crying in earnest.

  


***

**Author's Note:**

> i wish words like...... worked and i could write more but......... alas....... im cursed with tiny one shots disease
> 
> anyways! arya and sansa are Those Bitches but theyre also sad and traumatised and werent given the tools to process horrible events! hdsjkdh
> 
> kudos and comments are super appreciated as always!


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